Snake in a Lion's Den
by ox-dancindarlin-xo
Summary: When Draco's father gets an idea, Draco knows everything will change. Will his phoney facade be harder to put behind him than he first thought? Does he enjoy being the snake in the lion's den, or will his lie catch up with him?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: ****All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

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"Draco."

It wasn't an enquiry, or a protest. It wasn't a plead or an inquest. It was more like a statement; a declaration. As though she just had to prove to herself one last time that it was actually him stood before her.

He nodded just once as he stepped forward, his wand poised to murder the woman that up until now had unintentionally loved his masquerade.

He had been the snake in the lion's den. And he hadn't minded one little bit until now.

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_**A/N: Wow. I love prologues. They're amazing. :D What do you think of this one? I hope you like it! ^_^ Chapter one shall be up soon, I hope.**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


	2. The Switch

**Disclaimer: ****All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

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"Draco."

It wasn't a question, or an issue. It wasn't a plead or an apology. It was a demand; a commandment. He was forcing him do this, and he knew that it may be the very end of his sanity. Or what was left of it, anyway.

The boy in question nodded once before stepping forward, his head held high to accept his task.

He must be the snake in the lion's den, and he was rather looking forward to it.

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Oh, Merlin. Spare me.

Does that blood traitor _ever stop screaming_?

You'd think we'd been torturing and starving him the whole time we've been holding him hostage. Of course, we haven't. We need this screaming mongrel very much alive and well. _And to keep quiet, frankly, for the sake of my poor ears. _We've only been holding him for a couple of days, to be honest. It was just long enough for father and my Lord to conclude the decision they've made. And I have obliged to do it.

As fun as it may be for me, I know that it will be very dreary and very, _very_ dull. Controlling my frustration will be difficult, also. I mean, the Weasel probably doesn't pop his top with them every time they mention Death Eaters or my Lord. I suppose they have a jolly good gossip about it, not even scared to use his full name.

Thankfully for me, the Weasel has some respect and never uses my Lord's full name. At least I have that in my favour.

"Draco!"

It has started. They have the specimen in question – a single strand of the Weasel's hair. It is time for me to step up and be a man; to accept my duty.

To become the snake in the lion's den.

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The whole process for me was difficult, of course. And it felt awful. The nauseating feeling in my stomach didn't go away from the moment I drank the strange maroon liquid – deposited with Weasel's hair – from the moment I looked in the mirror.

I was the Weasel. The blood traitor, the brat; Potter's right-hand _mongrel_.

I wondered why his Polyjuice Potion had turned maroon, and tasted somewhat sweet. Of all the unsaid things he kept locked up in his chest. It was good to know something that went on inside his head (without Legilimency, of course. We've done that a couple of times on the Weasel, only to be blocked out by a strong defence of Occlumency. It only wavered when we used the Cruciatus Curse, and even then it was nothing of use to us. It will have to go on while I am away doing my mission I suppose. I miss all the fun, don't I?).

As the liquid went down my throat, I could already feel the sickness rising in my throat, and I dashed over the sink to throw up. Although no vomit came up, I watched as the skin on my hands literally crawled, as if millions of little beetles were rummaging around on the inside of my flesh.

My hands grew larger, and I could already tell I was growing taller. Not by much either way but it was still a noticeable difference. Then suddenly, my suit started to grow tighter and tighter around the chest and the tops of my arms, but remained baggy around the tops of my legs. So Weasel was top-heavy, was he?

I ripped off my jacket and undid the buttons on my shirt to give a little relief, and showed a rather impressive chest.

_Note to self: tease Weasel about this later._

We never told Weasel why we wanted his hair, of course. But he isn't totally dense for a Blood Traitor. He does hang around with that Mudblood Granger quite a lot, so some of her annoying intelligence would have rubbed off on him, of course. And some of Potter's braveness, we learned, because every time we came close to piercing a thought concerning the Mudblood, a wall would close in around it and we couldn't break through.

I wonder how he feels about the annoying Mudblood?

By this time of wondering, I'd already bent down to see myself in the mirror. Only it wasn't my own face staring back at me – it was the Weasel's.

Yep. This is definitely going to take some getting used to.

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Even though I was wearing an awful Gryffindor robe – second hand, it was. Father said it would be more believable if we bought more Weasley-like items – and had the Weasel's stupid wand (which, by the way, would _not_ take to me at all) in my pocket, I still went to sit in the Slytherin carriage when I boarded the Hogwarts Express.

"Ron!" I heard a voice call after me as I passed the more common carriages. I almost continued walking, but then realised that it was _me_ they were calling after. It would be strange, not hearing him as 'Weasel' for a couple of weeks.

I turned, and was greeted by the smiling face of The Boy Who Lived.

Ignoring the sickening feeling in my stomach, I forced an unwilling smile back and slowly made my way to sit with him. Stuffing my bag above into the storage spaces, he stood up and waited, still smiling at me.

Oh dear Merlin, don't do this to me.

But as I rest back down onto a standing position, with my arms firmly at my sides, Potter moved in for a hug.

Skin crawling, I stood and let him wrap his arms around me – at this point, I was actually glad it was Weasel's body he was touching and not mine, but he was still... touching _me_ – and clamp me hard on the back. My arms stayed at my sides, of course, and I still kept the same fake smile on my face.

Potter looked confused as to why I hadn't returned his hug, but he still smiled anyway and sat back down. I chose to sit opposite him instead of beside him to avoid him touching me again.

"Hiya, mate. How was your summer?"

I opened my mouth to warn him that if he ever calls me '_mate_' ever again he will not breathe another time to apologize for it. But then, of course, I realised...

"Um..." I began, unsure what the Weasel would say in this situation. The names of his blood-traitor family members ran through my head, and I decided to act as casual as possible. "...It was the same, s'pose," I'd cleverly used a form of slang that the Weasel and Potter normally use when I spy on them. It felt strange to be _common_, "Mum was the same as ever and, uh..." I looked across the carriage and out the glass doors, where a little red-head was trying to catch my attention. It was Ginny, the Weasel's younger sister. She waved enthusiastically and was beaming hysterically. I waved tentatively back, showing her the same forced smile I'd shown Potter earlier, and was happy when she turned to greet Harry in the same manner. He reacted in a much better way than I had of course, and I immediately saw something that Weasley never could have. As Ginny walked off, I was glad that Potter didn't follow me up on my account of the holidays, and began explaining his own.

"Mine seemed worse than last year. Your Mum said I could come stay, didn't she?" My eyes widened at the prospect of a pause, waiting for my answer, but I quickly reacted as he just went on talking, "Well, Aunt Petunia _made_ me stay just because Aunt Marge had died." Potter began to chuckle deeply, and I could only stare at him. I had no idea what he was talking about. He paused in a little shock, and then explained to me why he was laughing in such a manner at his aunt dying, "Hey, Ron, I'm not saying I'm _happy_ she's dead, of course not." I nodded as he paused, "but she's the one I blew up in third year, remember? She flew off like a balloon and the ministry of magic found her?"

I began laughing intensely fake, and Potter seemed to buy it as he joined in once more, although I could see nothing funny about it myself.

Just then, the door to our compartment opened and I looked up to see the Mudblood stumbling in, her robes already on, too, and a large suitcase in her small hands. Her hair was bushier than ever, and I could already tell before she opened her mouth to talk that my teeth would grind at whatever she chose to say.

"Oh, Merlin, it was murder down there!" She began, and Harry stood up to help her with her bags. She thanked him before sitting down on the edge of where I was sat, and I supposed it was my queue to move over. Cringing all over, I made sure she didn't touch me, and avoided any eye contact with her as I moved further up my seat for her to join me. "First, my Mum thought she'd left my books in the dentist's, but then Dad found them behind the sofa, and then just boarding the train now, someone tried to take my bag off me, claiming it was theirs! I tell you, it truly was awful. I've never met such arrogant people in my life! So how was your holidays, both of you?"

I sang a sweet symphony in my head, thanking Merlin as she had shut up. But then I soon realised she was staring at me, still wearing the same unnerving smile, prompting me to discuss my holidays first. I decided to avoid it with a light hearted joke.

"Hell, you should hear Po-_Harry's_!" I said a little louder than intended, laughing the same fake laugh I'd laughed at Potter's inflatable aunt story. He bought it, and the Mudblood's gaze turned from me to Potter. As he began telling the aunt story all over again, I looked out towards the window and into the countryside we were already venturing across.

This is going to be a _long_ couple of weeks.

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_**A/N: So, wow! Draco is Ron? How long will it be until Harry and Hermione notice something is up? And how do you like that it's in Draco's POV? :D I thought it would be more interesting, this time. ;)**_

_**Next chapter soon, I hope, people, and leave reviews please!**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


	3. Hermione

**Disclaimer: ****All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

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When we departed the train at the station for Hogwarts – '_we_' being myself (as the Weasel, of course), Potter and the Mudblood – I was glad to feel fresh ground on my feet. As much as I knew how much things would change being here in this disguise, it was good to feel steady and still. Now I could run and run and never ever stop if I wanted to. Whereas on the train... I felt trapped.

I hate feeling trapped.

As soon as we'd stepped onto the platform, however, the Weasel's sister Ginny came running over from another carriage. She was still grinning her head off and I wondered if it was a permanent part of her face.

The blood-traitor family didn't know of their son's disappearance, of course. It just so happened to be in my favour that the Weasel had been made to fetch a dead Bludger from across the field were he and his obnoxious twin brothers had been playing Quidditch. The perfect opportunity to grab him and take him away.

The Weasel's had been on a wild hunt the whole time he'd disappeared, obviously. But it only took it at least ten minutes to take him to Malfoy Manor and lock him up, snatching a single hair from his head and myself drinking it, before apparating back to Weasley premises, to miraculously re-appear – dead Bludger and all.

My one night at the Weasel household had been... interesting. And somewhat extremely annoying. As an only child in a large mansion, I am used to only business-full adults bearing the mark of my Lord. Not silly children running around causing a riot, and his shrill mother barking up a fuss at the slightest thing, and his fool of a father growing giddy at a new foul Muggle object he'd brought back home.

So the Weasel's sister Ginny was bounding towards us, ready to say a proper hello, I suppose. An informal one, more than likely – shudder.

I realised that of course she had not greeted the Mudblood yet, so she went straight for her first. Giving each other a friendly hug, they shared their acquaintances and then Ginny moved on to Potter.

I could have thrown up at the interest the Weasel was paying the Mudblood. If I wasn't being made to act the part, I would have taken her to my Aunt Bellatrix; she'd sort the Mudblood out indefinitely.

But the interest Ginny was showing Potter was even farther stomach-churning. She threw him the most blinding smile I'd ever seen, before throwing her arms around him and then pulling back uncertainly, batting her eyelashes madly. I was half-expecting Potter to ask her if something was in her eye, but after he simply greeted her with a, 'hello, Ginny' I laughed out loud and didn't try to hide it.

It was strange hearing my laugh through the Weasel's lips. To be fair, I hardly laugh anyway. There isn't any need to laugh; the people I've grown up with have always been tight-lipped and extremely serious people. But it was still strange to hear his _real _laugh, and not the one I'd been forcing out the whole time on the train.

Neither Ginny nor Potter asked what I found funny, so I supposed Weasel did this a lot. But the Mudblood did come and stand beside me, get in close so her arm brushed mine and put her lips so close to my ear I could feel the hotness of her breath.

I shuddered inwardly, and just stood pin-straight, waiting for her to _get the hell off me before I hex you into oblivion you unworthy_–

"Shut up, Ronald." She whispered, and then withdrew almost hastily. She still stood beside me, but was no longer in my space zone, and I sighed in thanks.

_Dear Merlin, the next few days will be difficult._

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Potions was... strange.

I mean, it was still like a normal lesson but... somehow I felt better in it.

The Mudblood, Potter and I sat on the same table, and the Mudblood kept shooting up her hand as always to answer any and every question Slughorn put forth. She kept getting us house points, though, so I can't really complain. But whenever Slughorn kept looking toward us and saying, "Ten points to Gryffindor!" I couldn't help but grimace in jealousy and frustration, before realising and smiling to myself.

Of course, my Slytherin friends don't know of my mission. Irritating Crabbe and Goyle have been told I had to go to another school for troublesome children. They believed it, of course, they're about the most gullible people I've ever met.

Apart from Potter and his dogs – the Weasel and the Mudblood.

And currently, I was one of them.

Lessons throughout the day kept getting stranger and stranger, and whenever I raised my hand and the teacher looked straight towards me and said Weasley's name, I would glance around before answering.

But in the common room that night it was the most irritating part of my day _ever_.

I have to say, the Gryffindor common room was definitely the righter side of the Slytherin common room. The Slytherin common room was below ground and it was cold and stony, the black leather of the seats never getting warm no matter how much the green flames of the fireplace warmed them. But in the Gryffindor common room it seemed always warm even though the room itself was in a tower. The warm orange had a _welcome-home-_like glow and even when Nearly Headless Nick popped in it was better company than the Bloody Baron dropping in unannounced.

It was Potter and the Mudblood that I couldn't get my head around. Their company was excruciating.

They kept laughing and making jokes about things I found minimally interesting. I couldn't even be bothered to force a smile, that's how irritated I was.

I'd already made excuses to not stay with them. From '_I'm tired_' to '_My head is exploding_' (not literally, of course. Just from a headache). But they just laughed it off. _Urgh_. Them and their annoying – _annoying_ – laughter.

I almost screamed my thanks up heavenwards when Potter finally stopped smirking with Granger and stood up. "I guess I'm gonna go to bed." He said, stretching. "Goodnight, Hermione." But then he turned to me. "Ron? You coming?"

I thought of saying yes. Just for a split second, to get away from the irritating Mudblood. But then I realised that if I went to bed with Potter, I would have to _undress_. _In front of Potter_!

Merlin, save me.

So I shook my head and gave him a tentative smile, forcing it just as much as I'd been forced to stay with them. "No thanks. I think I'll stay here for a little while."

As Potter nodded and turned to go up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, the Mudblood turned to me and gave me the most sinister look I'd ever seen leave her face. I waited until Potter's footsteps could no longer be heard before I said something to her.

"What exactly are you looking at?" I snapped, bent by her expression. No Mudblood looks upon a Malfoy like that!

She snorted and shook her head a little, still wearing the same disgusted expression. "What is _wrong _with you today?" She spat out at me like acid on her tongue. I'd never heard her speak in this tone before. When I didn't answer, only furrowed my eyebrows at her, she continued, "You're acting so strangely! You haven't been yourself ever since the train! And I _wish_ you would _talk_ to me!"

And then all I could do was blink. Blink once, twice, three times. I blinked and blinked again, until it all sunk in. She wanted to talk about _feelings_? _That's_ what she thought was wrong with me? That I could _express_ myself?

Oh, Merlin, convincing the Mudblood was going to be easier than I thought.

I laughed out loud – cruelly, I admit. But then I bent my head down low and stared at the floor. I didn't look back up at her until I'd fully composed myself.

Straightening – and sobering – up, I turned to her, and almost broke out in laughter again at her confused expression. But I remained calm and just said what I thought the Weasel would say to her, "Listen..." I paused, and looked up at her face, which was now plain and '_I'm listening'_, "..._Hermione_... It's not that I'm keeping anything from you... or _Harry_. Just..." I looked back up to her face once more. Her eyes were boring into mine like needles to cotton. But her face was still swimming with patience and understanding. "...I've been having a bad time." I hoped not to press further, but when she didn't reply, I said, "Personal stuff."

She nodded, smiling in reassurance. My stomach swelled up and I couldn't help but feel better.

But then she rest her hand on my shoulder. And then everything changed.

"I won't pry," She said, "But I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, Harry and I are always here for you." And at that, she leant over to kiss Ron's cheek.

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_**A/N: *wolf whistle*Sooo! This is really coming along, eh? ;) What do you think of it so far?  
Update soon, I hope.**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


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